


Who am I?

by bev_crusher1971



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode S4 Ep 12, M/M, Spoilers if you haven't seen it yet, early stages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2443355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bev_crusher1971/pseuds/bev_crusher1971
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who - or better what - is the Deputy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who am I?

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit that I confused my beta this time. This story demanded to be written in present tense and this is something she's not so comfortable with. I apologize for the inconvenience ;-) and I promise to beat the next bunny into obedience so it can be written in past tense. :-)
> 
> Anyway ... BIG THANK YOU'S to Monemaus who once again had to read what my weird mind comes up with.

When it's all over, he's standing next to his car, watching them all leave. He watches as they heave the unconscious body of Peter Hale in the car, locking the door tightly. 

Good. 

That man is a bastard!

He watches Derek Hale climb into the car next to whatshername … he always forgets it. It's not important. He sees him ignite the car, wave at the kids, turn around and drive away. But he also sees the last glance he throws at Stiles. And is surprised that there is more warmth in that single gaze than in the whole conversation with that woman by his side. 

He watches the kids Scott, Kira, Liam, Stiles and Malia as they make their way to their car, ready to go home. Stiles probably to have a good long talk with his dad. 

And he watches the Calavera's drive away, and take Christopher Argent with them. And a tiny part inside of him hates them for doing so. On the other hand he should be grateful that they'll help him to hunt Kate down. 

She's a cold-hearted killer, and she has to be put down like a rabid dog. Too bad, Derek didn't kill her when he got the chance. 

Finally, when everybody else is gone, Deputy Jordan Parrish climbs into his own car but doesn't start it right away. So much has happened in those last few hours that he needs some time to process it properly. He looks down at himself, sees that there are still the dark stains on his clothes. Blood, he thinks. Argent's blood. On his clothes. He glances sideways: The seat of his car is clean, he had bandaged the hunter up pretty good so no blood could seep out. 

With a sigh, he lets his head drop back against the headrest. He knows that he should drive back to Beacon Hills. Knows it's a few hours drive. But for a little longer he enjoys the silence. After all the shooting, and shouting, the gunfires, the growls, the changes … the silence is blessed. 

His ears are still ringing slightly but he knows it'll pass. It'll pass like the crush he developed over the last few weeks for a certain hunter: In his opinion it's hard *not* to fall for the older man. 

He thinks back to the moment he found the hunter down in the sewer, pinned to the wall with the bent iron rod. 

Left there to die by Peter fucking Hale. Jordan grits his teeth. He should have shot the bastard when he had the opportunity to do so. 

He knows that this mental image will haunt him whenever he closes his eyes. Shaking his head, he reaches for the key, and finally starts the car. He'll see how far he comes. If the fatigue becomes too much, he will stop in a motel somewhere along the road. 

~*~

When he stops for the night, the motel reminds him a little of Bate's Motel, and he smiles grimly. But he has reached his limit, the events of the last few hours catching up with him. He knows that he has to stop if he wants to avoid an accident. He closes the door of his room behind him, and eyes the bed longingly. The sheets are clean, as is the room, and he makes a quick detour to the bathroom before he finally can hit the sack. 

He closes his eyes with a deep sigh, and tries to sleep. 

But suddenly he's back in the sewers again, to find Chris Argent pinned to the wall, can feel the same helplessness he's felt those first few incredible long moments before he got the courage to step up to the older man. 

Fragments from their conversations flood his brain, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can't push them away. 

“They're gone.” 

“How long have you been like this?” 

“I don't know. Might have blacked out a few times.”

“There's no service down here.”

“Then just go.”

“If I leave right now, you'll be dead by the time I get back.”

“Leave.” A single word mumbled after their unsuccessful try to pull the rod out. 

The his head is filled with screaming. All that pain filled screaming from the brave man. And his breathless half order/half pleading to go, to leave him here to die. 

But Jordan was stubborn, too. “I need you to help me. I know you're hurt and tired, but I need you to gather everything you've got and help me.”

Jordan turns around in his bed, pulls the covers up over his head, trying to block out everything, all those memories, the sounds in his minds. And the barely audible “I've got nothing.”

“I've got nothing left. Please, go. Just go.” 

“I'm too tired to be angry.”

But somehow they managed. Together they managed to bend the bar back again, and pull the hunter off. Bleeding, his heart hammering in his chest, the strong man lay in his arms, trying to get his breath back. 

“What,” the hunter gasped, looking up at him, “what are you?”

Jordan stared down at him, frozen for a moment. “What do you mean?” he finally asked back hesitantly.

It takes Chris a while to gather enough strength to sit up but when he manages, he presses one hand tightly to his wound while holding himself upright, the other hand rests on the floor. 

“Your eyes,” he said quietly, “they glowed.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Jordan replied, irritated. 

In the Motel, Jordan turns around in his bed again, praying to fall asleep. 

But his mind conjures again the deep, blood gushing wound. Shows it to him in technicolor. He presses his fists against his eyes, but can still see the deep red blood, can still feel its warmth. Smell its coppery scent. 

And then he remembers those few moments between his last pull at the iron bar, and the fall of the hunter to the ground. 

With a sigh he sits up in his bed, and stares down at his hands. The moment the hunter came free, Jordan pressed his hands to the wound. It was an instinctive reaction, and he can still see what happened. They fucking glowed, he can remember that. For one long moment, one hysterical moment he felt like fucking Rapunzel in Tangled – without the singing of course. 

Scared, surprised and terrified he ripped his hands away, but he also saw the way the big wound already started healing. 

He starts to shiver although it's not cold in the room. He is … something. Not quite human. 

Not quite monster, he hopes. 

“What are you?”

The voice sounded curious, not disgusted. 

He doesn't know. He always thought he's human. Apparently, he was wrong. He gets up, walks over to the Minibar, and empties three little bottles of scotch. He needs some liquid help tonight if he ever wants to get some shut-eye. 

He lies down again, can feel the alcohol coursing through his system, warming him from the inside, making his limbs heavy, and finally he falls asleep. 

In his dreams, he can feel again the strong body of the hunter under his hands again. His hands glow, heal the hunter. In his dreams, he does *not* snatch his hands away, presses them tightly to the wound, feels his hands tingle, and sees the way his powers knit the flesh and muscles and tendons together again. In his dreams, Christopher Argent sits up when he's healed, turns around to him, and whispers, “Thank you, Jordan.”

Then he leans close, and presses his lips to Jordan's, kisses him softly, puts his hands on his shoulders, and pulls him close. Then he murmurs again, “Let me thank you properly,” and then – a little huskier, “Deputy.”

A mighty shiver runs over Jordan's body, and he moans quietly, “Yes, Chris, please.” And then there's the touch. The strong hands that are finding their way under his shirt, the hot breath on his skin, and he closes his eyes, enjoys the touches, the kisses, the light biting. In his dreams he can feel the hard cock of the hunter slide into him, feels him move inside of him. Can feel him touch him, love him. Fuck him. 

And when he wakes up, coming, gasping the hunter's name …. it's only him who will ever know, right?

~*~

Chris' eyes widen slightly when he hears the younger man moaning his name, sees him coming with a gasp, and moves back into the shadows when the deputy startles awake and sits up, seemingly a little confused. Then Chris smiles slightly when Jordan Parrish groans, and shoves the bed covers aside with a murmured, “Oh great, not again!”

Again? Huh, that's interesting. But he knows that – as much as he would love to – he can't stay. Not right now. Not with his sister still on the run. 

But he can come back. The moment he manages to bring his sister down with the help from the Calavera's, he will come back, and then he might try to find the courage to maybe make a move at the younger man. 

When Jordan is back in his bed, Chris Argent waits another fifteen minutes, watches over the younger man's sleep before he silently slips out into the night again, gets into his car, and heads to the meeting point with the Calavera's. 

The end


End file.
